


The Queen's Promise

by captainfireme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Boy-Who-Lived Harry Potter, Family Feels, Gen, Hogwarts Seventh Year, House of Black, Malfoy Manor, draco develops a conscience, magic heirlooms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 01:28:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainfireme/pseuds/captainfireme
Summary: If someone asked him if he was happy, Draco couldn't reply with a yes. But no one is asking him, and leaving his family to set out on his own path is not an option. Draco doesn't think he has a choice, but a magic heirloom is about to upset the status quo.
Kudos: 10





	The Queen's Promise

Snow on Christmas morning is not unheard of, but it is unusual. Draco can‘t remember the last time he woke up on Christmas to find the Manor grounds covered in a thick layer of white. It‘s still early, but the sun is already up. It reflects off the snow and makes it look like a million tiny diamonds, or perhaps one big diamond fractured into a million little pieces. It‘s beautiful, and Draco couldn‘t care less. 

A soft knock on the door makes him turn around from where he is standing at the big window overlooking the land of his ancestors, the land that the Dark Lord has now claimed for himself, to face the door.

„Come in“, he calls. It‘s not everyone that he would let enter his room in these days, but this is a knock he knows. 

His mother looks frail, but Draco thinks it‘s a fragility that is misleading. He is almost certain she is stronger than his father, but he would never say that out loud. Nevertheless, her white hair occasionally shows grey strands now and the cheekbones under the dark circles beneath her eyes are razor sharp. He knows she hasn‘t been eating, but calling her out on it would make a hypocrite out of him. Not that he hasn't been called worse.

„Good morning, Draco.“ 

Draco turns back to the window to watch the sun rise over what once used to be his home. „Good morning, mother.“

She crosses the room to join him, her light steps barely audible on the soft carpet. What he hears instead, is a guttural scream from somewhere far below them. They both ignore it. 

„I have something for you.“ Draco winces when his mother‘s fingers brush his shoulder, not because the feeling is unwelcome but because it is unexpected. 

The touch makes him turn his head, and he wishes he hadn‘t. It‘s easier to stay numb when he is not looking into his mother‘s eyes. Out in public, her expression has always been guarded. Proud, but without much emotion. At the manor, her face used to be an open book for him, but those days are gone. Her expression hasn‘t been this open since he returned for the Christmas holidays. When the screaming in the distance intensifies, it is mirrored by dual emotions of guilt and pity in her eyes.

„What is it?“ She is not carrying anything, or at least nothing he can spot right away.

She gestures to his green settee. „Sit down.“ 

An unbidden image of a similar morning flashes before his eyes. He remembers mountains of shiny presents, hot chocolate made with the finest Belgian chocolate and topped with creamy chopped caramel bits, a note materializing out of nothing that sends him on a hunt for a secret sack of presents stored somewhere in his rooms, an afternoon walk with his parents. He blinks once, and the image is gone. He has no use for memories. Not in a place, where his aunt can steal them, warp them and weaponise them. 

He follows his mother‘s wish. She sits down on a chair opposite the settee, and lets her hands rest on her lap. „There is something I have been saving for your seventeenth birthday“, she starts. There is an uncharacteristic tremble in her voice when the screams originating from the basement turn into a howl and then suddenly break off. They both ignore it. „When it was finally time, I decided to hold on to it for just a little while longer. Your father was still in prison, and you were...“ 

She pauses for a moment, closes her eyes, continues. Draco wants to reach out to her, but he supresses the urge. „In any case, I had always imagined your coming of age differently. As had you, I‘m sure.“

Draco doesn‘t know when he reached for his arm and the Dark Mark that is burned into his skin there, but he suspects it was around the same time his mother said ‚birthday‘. He drops his hand.

His mother doesn‘t comment. „It has recently come to my attention that Nymphadora Tonks gave birth to a son.“ 

At this, Draco looks up sharply. His mother never mentions Andromeda‘s family of her own volition. The first time he learned that she even has a second sister was when his parents explained the Malfoy family tree to him. He remembers being fascinated by Andromeda when he was a child, because his parents would never answer any questions he had about her. He used to dream up the wildest reasons for their silence on the matter, imagining Andromeda was a spy, who infiltrated the evil Muggles to carry back information about them to the Ministry; or perhaps she was one of the mysterious Unspeakables he had heard his parents' dinner guests murmur about in hushed tones when he had snuck out of bed to watch them one night. 

It was only when his father put a silencing charm on him for a full hour after the repeated question of whether they could visit his aunt sometime that Draco learned to avoid the subject. Even so, he had felt a flutter of excitement when he had first seen his cousin, Nymphadora. Afterwards, he spent nights reading up on Metamorphmagi and how their abilities got passed down to the next generations. To his great disappointment, he found out that there was no chance that he was a Metamorphmagus since the abilities had not manifested themselves in him, and he was too old now for there to be any chance they were still undiscovered. He wondered if Nymphadora‘s son would have inherited them. 

„It seems as though the Black line continues in more than one way, if not by name then at least by blood“, his mother is saying. It is the first time he ever asks himself if she felt any sadness when she learned that the Black name died with her cousin in the Battle of the Ministry, the battle he mainly remembers as the event that led to his father‘s incarceration. He almost asks her, but it is not really the kind of thing they discuss. In the distance, the screaming picks up again, but the voice is higher this time. A woman, or maybe a child. They have learned to ignore it. 

„You are the Malfoy heir, but you are also a Black through me.“

Draco blinks. He has never thought of himself as a Black. The thought probably should have ocurred to him when he first heard that Sirius Black was dead, but he was preoccupied with other worries at the time. Such as how to face society with his father in prison and the Malfoy named dragged through the mud. Such as living without his father for the first time in his life. 

„What does that mean?“ he asks now, a year too late. 

His mother frowns. He isn‘t sure whether that is because he interrupted her or because she is trying to find an answer to his question. He suspects it is the latter when she finally replies. „That remains yet to be seen. Inheritance law is complex magic and does not always conform to legal regulations. Especially in a case like this, in which all male heirs have died. I expect the magic will find its way to the successor it deems most worthy. Under normal circumstances I would presume that to be me and through me you, as Andromeda has been removed from the family tree and Bellatrix is childless, but Sirius Black was… unusual in his views.“ She pauses for a moment, and the next words seem to cause her physical pain. „It seems as though he has declared Harry Potter as his heir, but that was not entirely his decision to make. The House will make up it's mind eventually.“

It is the longest Draco has heard his mother speak since he returned from Hogwarts a few days ago. It is also the first time she mentioned Potter‘s name. „I see“, he says, even though he doesn‘t. 

„In any case, it's not relevant at the moment.“ His mother reaches into the pocket of her robe and pulls out a roll of parchment. „This is mine, and so I am free to give it to you, regardless of who turns out to be the rightful Black heir.“

He takes the parchment when she offers it to him. When he unrolls it, he sees that it is completely blank.

„It‘s a game,“ his mother says, and for the first time in months, a smile softens her features. „But it's also much more than that.“

In Draco‘s hands, the parchments stays blank. „How is it played?“

„That depends“, his mother answers, not very helpfully. She gets up, brushing her hands down her robe to straighten out miniscule wrinkles in a motion that seems to have become automatic to her. She leaves it at that, and he knows it would be futile to press her on the matter.

„Thank you“, he says, instead of asking any of the thousand questions buzzing around his head.

His mother steps closer and envelops him in a hug. He freezes for a moment, and then returns it, the parchment still in his hand. Her floral smell makes him feel weak, so he steps back. 

„Merry Christmas, Draco“, his mother says, and leaves him with his thoughts. 

**

Draco tries to solve the mystery of the parchment for the first time that night, when he can‘t sleep, because he hears a heavy body slithering around the hallway right outside his room. When he touches his wand to the parchment, fine lines of ink spread out from the point where the two materials connect. They form into words.

_The House of Black is delighted to welcome a blood relative. Please provide the password._

Draco thinks for a moment. „Pureblood?“

_Ah, what an honorable attempt._

The parchment remains blank, except for the words congratulating him on his wrong choice. 

„Family.“

_It always has to stick together._

Draco sets his jaw. It takes him twelve more tries until he finally gets it right.

„Toujours pur.“

This time, there is only one word on the parchment: _Welcome._

The parchment thickens and becomes more solid. White and black squares appear and out of them grow little figures. It only takes a few seconds until the parchment has transformed into a chessboard. Draco seems to be playing for the white team. The little chess figures remain unusually quiet, with one exception. 

„It is an honour to face you, son of Narcissa“, the Black Queen says. She slides forward on the board, the pawns jumping out of her way. 

„The honor is all mine“, Draco replies. There is an unfamiliar feeling in his stomach. After a moment, he recognises it as excitement.

„Beat me in this game, and I will answer the question burning on your mind.“

The excitement turns into a feeling of dread he recognises much more easily, because it has been his constant companion in the last few months. „What happens to me if I lose?“

The queen gives him a slow smile. „Then we shall have enjoyed a good game. And perhaps play again, if you so wish.“

Draco considers. His father has taught him to be careful around old artefacts. The queen‘s promise could be entirely innocent. It could also be a warning that he will be caught in an endless game of chess if he doesn't manage to beat her. He hears something knock against his door that sounds like a tail, and makes his decision. It is unlikely that a Black family heirloom given to him by his mother would intentionally harm a blood descendant. Besides that, he has very little to lose.

„Let‘s play“, he says.

He doesn‘t win the first game. Or the second, or the third, or any of the ones that follow that night, but that does not mean he gives up. Every night, for the entirety of his winter holidays, he returns to the chessboard to challenge the queen. When he hasn‘t beaten her yet by the end of the holidays, he rolls up the parchment, into which the chessboard transforms back at the end of every game and takes it with him to Hogwarts. 

Playing the game becomes a nighttime ritual. The queen starts to feel like an old friend, at a time in which he grows distant from most of his childhood friends. He carries the parchment with him everywhere. He touches the pocket that holds it to make sure it‘s still there after he hears the screams of a second year, inflicted by his own wand. It helps him to ignore them. He reaches into his pocket to stroke his finger over the smooth surface of the parchment when he reads a letter by his mother that details what is happening at the Manor, not in her words, but in all the ones she isn‘t writing. One time, he takes it out to feel its steady presence in his hand when he returns from a walk that took too long and the full moon catches him by surprise. After a couple of weeks, he feels that he is getting close to beating the queen, but she always manages to turn the tables on him in the end.

When he returns to the Manor for the Easter holidays, he uses every free moment he has to lock himself away in his room with the queen and her eerily silent soldiers. His obsession has unforeseen benefits. When his aunt accosts him with one of her Occlumency lessons, his focus has improved so much that all she can extract from him are images of a chess board. Knowing his memories are protected, he sneaks down to the basement during one of the meetings he is not required to be at. He almost drops the food he isn‘t eating to the damp floor when he recognizes the Lovegood girl. Instead, he sets it down carefully and disappears. That night he plays ten consecutive rounds of chess. The final game lasts for so long that the sun is rising when he catches the queen in a stalemate. „The time has almost come“, she comments before the board turns back into the blank piece of parchment. 

**

A day later, Harry Potter arrives. Draco doesn‘t need to see his face to know it‘s him. He knows the way Potter moves, arrogant and self-righteous, the expressions he uses when he opens his stupid, Gryffindor mouth, he can identify every emotion in those unsettling eyes. 

„I can't — I can't be sure“, he says when his father urges him to identify Potter, focusing very hard on a very familiar chessboard.

After the incident, Draco returns to his room as soon as he can, but when Hermione Granger screams, he can‘t ignore it. It is the most distracted round of chess he plays since his mother gifted him the game on Christmas Day. Because of this, Draco doesn‘t realise it at first, when he finally wins. 

„Congratulations“, the Black Queen says. All the chess figures vanish from the board, and she is the only one that remains, standing proud even though she has just lost. „You may ask me your question.“

„What?“ Draco stares at the board in disbelief. He had thought he would feel victorious by the time he finally wins, but right now all he is feeling is confusion and disbelief and, surprisingly, panic. He has many questions, but he didn‘t think he would get to ask any of them today. „But-“

„One question“, the queen cuts him off. „Choose wisely.“

Far too close, Hermione Granger screams and his aunt laughs. Draco suddenly knows that there is only one question that really matters. One question, he never dared to ask himself consciously.

„Which side?“ 

He realises he stopped breathing when his body urges him to gasp for air. Under normal circumstances he would be embarrassed, but right now it seem as though everything depends on the queen‘s answer.

„I cannot answer a question on which you are already decided.“ 

With that, the queen disappears and Draco‘s heart sinks. He grabs the parchment, crumples it up into a ball and throws it across the room. He wouldn't have thought he could feel more helpless. 

Draco doesn‘t understand the queen‘s answer until hours later, when he is staring into Harry Potter‘s green, green eyes and decides that he can give up his wand to The Boy Who Lived if it means that Malfoy Manor might eventually become his family's home again. 

Later that night, he will play another round of chess. And another one. And as many as it takes to get through the next few months after that.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, it's been a hot minute since I wrote fanfiction. I stayed up way too late writing this, but I like what it turned into. Getting into Draco's head again was a nice break from the novel I'm writing for Nanowrimo. I wrote this in a few short hours without going over it again, so excuse the spelling, grammar or other mistakes you will surely find. I hope you enjoy reading this little ficlet as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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